The Music in Me

Music. One of the three great passions of my life. There was always music in my childhood home. I remember familial and parental house parties full of guitars and singing and dancing. The big stereo cabinet was the sacred altar, and I don’t remember a time when I didn’t have my own little record player in its brown suitcase-type case in my room — with all the speeds at 16–33–45–78 RPM. Not a toy — a real record player. I learned how to handle vinyl properly even before I learned how to make my own bed.

Got a transistor radio for my 10th birthday, the day that Janis Joplin overdosed. Dad got drunk and almost missed my fancy birthday dinner at the Blue Parrot Steakhouse. I have many memories of driving around with him in his work truck, with him belting out Rod Stewart or Janis’s Me and Bobby McGee, or other top 40 radio hits at the top of his lungs to the radio. He cried when he sang. (I know where I get it from — that deep soul connection to music).

I still have a couple of my well-worn childhood records. Rosemary Clooney. Ray Stevens’ Everything is Beautiful. Meet the Monkees. Rolling Stones. As soon as I started “liking” popular music, that’s what my parent bought me. Mom liked country and folk, Dad was more of a rock and classical fan. Sunday mornings was Dad’s Omelettes and Tchaikovsky. Now with real cannons in the 1812 Overture! What kid couldn’t appreciate that? And on TV, there was always Lawrence Welk. A musical history lesson in every episode. And Mom loved the MGM Musicals. Ginger Rogers, dance on air.

Growing up, the radio was always on — even when there was only one AM station that played pop music inbetween the farm reports and country music hour. My first paycheck from my first summer job bought me a cassette player and Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours. Saturday Night Fever. Queen. Rolling Stones. One tape per paycheck. I think I still have a few of those tapes in a black shiny leather cassette tape case. I don’t think they play anymore — worn right out.

In 1981, I walked past Kelly’s Stero Mart (of blessed memory) on Portage Ave at Kennedy. Small sign in the window advertised the need of a part time cashier. Walked a half-block further then turned around and went in. Got the job. It was the beginning of a 25+ year career in music retail, marketing, merchandising, buying, event creation and promotion, and best of all — a full-scale immersion in music. I learned alot about business. Kellys — Pepper Records — A&A Music Superstore — HMV — Musiplexx — Hear Music — I was a Priestess in the Temples of the Acolytes of the Tower of Song. I got to attend hundreds of concerts, go backstage, on tour buses, into recording studios, speak at conferences, sit on boards, drink beer in green rooms and dressing rooms, hang out with my idols, and listen to music as part of my every-day job — it was what I did, and who I was.

Here’s what I learned:

1. The best music never made it to the broadcast airwaves. For every million-seller superhit, there are dozens of incredible records by unknown artists that we used to handsell — recommend to our regular customers, push on our music-loving friends. I cherish my albums and compact discs by people you likely have never heard of — OIO, October Project, Wendy Matthews, Roman Holliday and so many more. There was the joy of discovering people who later became “something” — I played REM’s first album until the rest of the staff told me to stop — but their next record hit it big and I was part of the “I found them first” club. Now I don’t know where to go to find the best new music that no one has heard before.

2. Think twice before meeting your idols. I was privileged to meet pop stars and rock bands for many years. Some were gracious, appreciative, engaging. Some were obnoxious — one blew cigar smoke right into the faces of his adoring fans backstage. Some were all business — firing crew right in front of us. Some were flirtatious, some were sexual predators. Some partied very very hard. A few became very special connections that lasted for years. BUT — I’d have to say that for 95%, meeting the fans, promoters, music store people was just part of the job — and the interactions were completely impersonal and devoid of any meaning. Some were so rude, or unkind, or indifferent that it made me less of a fan. That made me sad.

3. Creators of culture need to be fairly compensated. I have an extensive collection of music in multiple media formats. “Back in the Day” when cassette tapes were the media of choice, I lost several friends because I wouldn’t let them come over and tape my collection. Not only was it depriving my store of income, but it was depriving the artists of their income. The argument was that Mick Jagger didn’t need their money — but the reality of the record industry is that the mega-profits from the mega-stars is what allowed the labels to invest in new acts. Artists made a pittance on each sale, anyways — and that’s because — it is not about the music — silly —

4. It’s the Music Business. The artists and songs were the commodity for huge infrastructure within the corporations to sell and expoit. You can read about the early music pioneers and those with bad managers and unfair contracts getting screwed out of their fair share of their earnings (Just watch Searching for Sugarman for a bit of insight.) Profit-driven — soulless — anti-sentimental — great records deleted because they didn’t sell the mandatory annual minimum. Crappy albums made because the artist was the current love interest of a producer or the son of the record company president. Ugh. Now, with the advent of self-publishing, artists have more control over their creative process, production, packaging, marketing, and distribution.

5. In their glory-days, Record Stores served a vital function, and the retail front line were the unsung heroes of the music industry when it was at its peak. Stores were a place of weekly pilgrimage by hard core music fans searching for something old, new, interesting. We, the thousands of music retail store employees, put music in the hands of the people who would love it and share it and turn it into hit records. We broke new bands. We promoted good records by worthy artists who were grateful. We helped customers find music for weddings, funerals, graduations — and curated the soundtrack of their lives. We answered crazy questions, did research and found “that song with the word love in the title that you heard on the radio.” We heard more music than ever made it to the radio — and had to know something about everything. But most of all, when you wanted something new — that was a bit like this, and a bit like that — we found it for you.

I lucked into a part time job that became a career that allowed me great privileges in terms of access to music, meeting people, influencing an industry as a buyer, doing some travel, and working with some amazing people. But for me, at the core of it all, was the love of music. The music — the poetry — the passion — the power — the emotion. I know that I hear music differently than many people — it opens up my heart, it moves me to tears, it connects me to something that feels greater than myself. I was fortunate to fall into something that was a perfect fit for my passion. And I am grateful for every note — even the sour ones — because they have created a symphony of memories.